One of the greatest gifts of #menopause is shamelessness.
In lieu of my menstrual cycle, instead of shedding the lining of my uterus, I am shedding the lining of patriarchal fuckery that I was socialized into.
How often do films center a woman in her early 60s?
Rarer still is the film that centres a woman in her early 60s who wants to fuck.
Heteronormative patriarchy’s designated shelf life for cis women is age at which we cease to be its walking incubators. feministgiant.com/p/the-fuck-it-…
Whenever I want anyone to know how utterly wrenching–and also liberating– it is to go through perimenopause, I will say, nay YELL: EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE. feministgiant.com/p/essay-the-me…#Menopause
I want to be seen. Not to be told, as I often have, that I don’t “look my age.” That is not the compliment some people think it is.
But to say “Here is a middle aged woman. Look,” at a time when it seems that every time I look away, my body has changed. feministgiant.com/p/essay-perime…
If you think the older we get the more comfortable we are with talking about our vulvas, vaginas, pussies and cunts, you have not heard the silence about what happens to our genitals as we age, and specifically as we go through #menopause. feministgiant.com/p/essay-in-app…
What desire is a cis woman who is child free by choice “allowed” to have at 54yrs of age? What does desire look like liberated from pressure to have children?
Ancient Egyptian word for “makeup palette” comes from “to protect.” My ancestors believed Kohl eyeliner protected them vs harsh sunlight or the Evil Eye; I believe the eyeliner I apply every day protects me vs the harsh days of pandemic and perimenopause. feministgiant.com/p/deliberate-b…
I shaved off my hair during lockdown.
Underneath the layers of my 53yrs, past all that sediment of rage upon rage, was a girl who was told-and believed-she was ugly. She was waiting for me. And to find her, I had to embrace the nakedness of a buzzed head feministgiant.com/p/essay-the-ki…
Armed with the shamelessness that is the gift of perimenopause and the urgency that is death by global pandemic, I started this newsletter because I knew it was time to write all the things I never dared to before; to become a woman who writes too much.
In Umm Kalthoum’s universe, love disrupts and disturbs. I migrated to her universe and pleaded for asylum.
Feminist love insists on being both powerful and tender, because the sum total is freedom. Free love is revolutionary. feministgiant.com/p/essay-a-femi…
I found out almost by chance that perimenopause could last up to 14yrs. At first, I thought “Are you fucking kidding me?” And then “How the hell did I not know that?” How was a feminist like me so ignorant about menopause? Was I not paying attention? feministgiant.com/p/essay-bloody…
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I turned 55 this summer and all I could think was: I don’t remember what I used to be and I don’t know who I am becoming. But I welcome her! feministgiant.com/p/essay-menopa…
We were never meant to thrive in this world, built by (able-bodied, wealthy, cisgender heterosexual, white) men for (able-bodied, wealthy, cisgender heterosexual, white) men. “How can I compete with men when I can’t sleep?” The simple answer of course is you cannot.
In my late 40s and especially after I turned 50, I would wake up too often with an impending sense of doom. I had no idea that it was anxiety, a common impact of perimenopause but brand new for me. It was the worst impact of menopause for me. I write about it in my new essay
Menopause is a transition, so I know things won't suddenly change as I emerge through peri and into postmenopause, which I'm hoping is soon because I haven't had a period in 11 months and if I get one again I will fucking DESTROY MANY THINGS.
I had no idea anxiety would hit me so hard.
I realise now that when I wrote this, I was referring to my anxiety:
"my mind felt like a car that was trying to drive with the hand brake on. And there was nothing to do but sit with it, screeching and all."
My neon yellow hair plays a big role in this essay about menopause. This afternoon, waiting to cross the street next to a man and his daughter (about 6yo), he complimented my hair and I heard him say to her “She is doing what she wants and is happy to be different.” I loved it.
This coming month—if my period stays where it is and does not return—will mark 12 months without a period and I will finally be done. Post-menopausal Mona—yes yes I want that! Until then, my latest essay
How many of us are ready for perimenopause? I am a feminist and until shamefully recently, I thought menopause would take a few months or so during which my period would sort of peter out and boom I’m done.
I turned 55 this summer. And all I kept thinking was I don’t remember what I used to be and I don’t know who I am becoming. #Menopause has discombobulated all of me. It has taken whatever Mona I used to be pre-perimenopause and shaken her free at the seams feministgiant.com/p/essay-menopa…
I look back at the years behind me as if reassessing a wreckage of sorts.
A necessary wreckage.
I think of Adrienne Rich's Diving Into the Wreck
“I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done.”
-Adrienne Rich
In Rich’s poem, the dive is to explore & challenge the myths of patriarchy.
What if menopause is a dive into the self to explore the myths of what we're supposed to be at this stage of our life, what "success" is, what "milestones" to celebrate or regret. And to then wreck them
As I promised, I called my latest essay "Menopause is Shit. Menopause is Amazing."
I feel as if I'm almost there now. Deceptive perhaps (when your period returns after 10 months away, you understand menopause can be the great deceiver), but I feel as if I’m arriving somewhere.
To get there, I look back at the years behind me as if reassessing a wreckage of sorts. A necessary wreckage. I don’t know who I am becoming but to emerge into her, I must unbecome.